


after the fall

by justvibing



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 14:10:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20779883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justvibing/pseuds/justvibing
Summary: after the fall hannibal and will build themselves a new life in Paris





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so i wrote this fic right after the hannibal finale in 2015 and now i finally decided to post it here. i used way too many commas because i'm Austrian, and German uses a f*ckload of commas also English isn't my first language so i'm sorry for all the mistakes uwu

**Will’s POV**

It hit him hard. Pain results.

The pain of a fierce impact. 

Darkness.

Cold.

The distinctive rustle and buzz of water, completely shrouded in it. The previously so dominant pain already irrelevant and gone.

He is slowly sinking deeper and deeper into the black of the atlantic ocean. All the excitement, the exhilaration he felt during their dance is now replaced with inner peace. He is in peace with himself and even better, he is in peace with the person next to him. If he dies now, he would die in the arms of the most important man of his life. It would be ok. It would be over.   
He would crave these feelings again if he tried to suppress them. All these horrible, terrifying feelings he let himself enjoy for the first time in his life. 

But if this situation ends the way he imagines, he would never have to justify himself again. Not even to himself. He could enjoy these emotions now in these last moments, without feeling guilt or fear. He could enjoy them in the arms of the person who brought his potential to the surface, the person who helped him to be himself, the man who loves him. Yes, he could to that now, in the arms of this man. He could do anything now...

Everything get’s heavier, his limbs, his eyelids. The darkness is slowly creeping into his head, numbing his mind. The water pressure should gradually become more and more unpleasant but he doesn’t notice. He couldn’t. The cold light of the sky is reaching him no longer, he can’t even see it anymore, the surface seems to be miles away.    
Nevertheless... everything’s fine now. It’s ok.

The soothing cold of the water.   
The devouring darkness.

It’s ok.

The body next to him suddenly awakes.

Strong arms turn a weak hug into a secure embrace.

It’s ok.

His mind is dwindling.

Unconsciousness rules now in Will’s mind but...

...it’s ok.

* * *

The darkness is still present but now pain coexists. A sting in his right cheek and his chest. His head is on the verge of bursting, first an intense buzz, then an unpleasant pressure spreading from his temple to his neck. His body feels heavy and he’s not sure if he can move his limbs, if he even wants to move them. He notices his mouth is dry, he tries to swallow and lick his lips. He’s thirsty. He needs water. Water?

“We are still alive?”, he asks, voice wrecked and already knowing the answer. He can almost HEAR Hannibal’s amused expression.    
With big effort he opens his eyes. An unpleasant brightness greets him and after a few failed attempts to focus on anything, he gives up and closes them again.   
Hannibal moves, quick steps on a wooden floor, then the clink of glass on glass and now a cup is led to his lips. He drinks hesitantly, in short gulps, hot tea warming him from the inside. His mind is slowly starting to work again, thoughts streaming into his head. Dolarhyde, the fight, the embrace, the ocean. Questions start to form. Where are they right now? What are they going to do now? Where will they go? Are they safe in this house? His head will burst soon.

  
Again, steps. Hannibal’s hand is suddenly on his cheek. He feels a bandage being removed, a bandage he had not noticed until now. Gentle, experienced fingers examine and treat his wound. Salve, cooling and pain-relieving, briefly covers the sting in his cheek and as the physical ache leaves, the mental one does to. All these frightening questions he asked himself seconds ago are gone and all of a sudden he doesn’t know anymore why he ever worried. No matter how terrifying and horrible he considered his feelings towards the older man, he now knows... they are ok. Because Hannibal is here. And with these thoughts of clarity Will finally opens his eyes.

**Hannibal’s POV**

He can feel Will’s gaze and briefly returns it. The facial wound will heal properly, he did a good job with the stitches. Will still stares at him. A slightly unpleasant, almost nervous sensation spreads in his chest. The fear of being rejected again, is trying to fog his rational mind. He lets Will see his face anew, a weakness reserved only for the man sitting in front of him. But the younger man has took a major step, too. Now, every emotion, every secret desire is bared between the two of them. A re-separation would be, from now on, truly unbearable. He returns the look a second time due to Will’s persistent gaze but this time his eyes stare right back. A few days ago he could merely have dreamt about what he sees there now. The other man does not often have moments of such clarity, clarity about the emotions towards him. But now Will is certain. Again reborn, the teacup came back together. Everything that was unfolded between them, everything that happened before the fall, is still valid. Wonderful relief spreads inside of him.

He smiles.

"How do you feel?"

Will clears his throat, his voice still wrecked. "Well, everything hurts.... how long have I been unconscious?"

"Two days." He leans back in his chair, his bullet wound twinging but the sensation is one to enjoy and not to worry about. This wound started a new life for him. A new life for both of them.

"How did you get us here, you got hurt, too?"

"Drowning was no option for us. Not for me." he answers honestly

"Of course, it wasn't." Will says quietly, closing his eyes again, the effort seemingly too much. He observes Will, the conversation they are going to have makes his skin tingle weirdly. A sensation only the younger man is able to cause.

“You didn’t want us to survive.” It’s neither a question nor a fact.

Will tries to shrug but decides against it due to his aching shoulder. "I was fine with drowning." 

"Why?" 

"You know." Will replies, looking exhausted.

"Yes." he admits, being fine with the fact being an unspoken truth between them.

"I am surprised you are not angry with me, Will. I took a decision from you."

"Not particularly. You could have died. I think I trusted something different to make a decision for me."

"Are you referring to fate or coincidence? You never believed in a bigger power."

Will opened his eyes again and frowned. "I don't know... but maybe this... is just how it should be. The only way it can be."

"You have found religion."

Will stares at him again. "Yes."

Pride bubbling up in his chest due to Will's confession, he asks: "So you are at peace with surviving, too?"

"... I am now."

He smiles again.

  
  


**Will’s POV**

He can’t help but smile back. At least he tries as his cheek is still hurting. 

For the first time since he is awake he has time to observe the room he is currently lying in. It’s big and rather bright, simple and contemporary. You could say it’s the opposite of Hannibal’s dark, pompous style. Outside he can hear the sea, the sky getting darker and darker with each minute. It must be about 5pm. 

“So, where exactly are we?”

“About 10 hours north from where we left. We should move further tomorrow. The FBI is still looking for us, although I doubt they will start searching for us on land but we can’t be too careful.” Hannibal answers without looking stressed at all. It rather seems like the older man has the time of his life. 

“Whose house is this?” All the questions suddenly streaming back into his mind.

“A young family’s. Considering the lack of clothes and food they don’t use this house permanently.”

He nods slightly, simply trusting Hannibal. “And where are we heading to?”

“First, we have to arrive at an airport. After we accomplish that it’s our own choice. ...What do you think about Paris?” Hannibal asks, not able to contain a smirk, the fondness and affection in the maroon eyes nearly unbearable.

He smiles, ignoring the pounding pain in his cheek and feeling completely content for the first time in a long time. “Paris sounds fine.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok some extreme fluff is coming your way, be warned

**Three months later**

**Hannibal’s POV**

Shrouded in warmth, he is woken up by the light of a cool spring morning. After a few attempts to blink the sleep out of his eyes, he immediately focuses on the small body, which is curled up in a ball under the blanket, next to him. In the grey light of the dawn the delicate man’s usually pale skin looks even brighter. Beard and hair, both a little bit longer now, but far less chaotic than when they first met, form a heavy contrast to his almost white face. Will is simply breathtaking. 

His gaze focuses onto the now thin, white line Dolarhyde had left on Will’s cheek. Jealousy spreads inside of him. This man was not worthy of Will, did not deserve to leave his sign on him. In order to divert his thoughts he lifts his stare to the barely visible scar on the other man’s forehead, a mark he left there. His doing. The previous uneasiness disappears immediately. He would not want to undo what he did, the scarred skin tells a story… their story. However, it would have been a shame if it had ended in Florence, considering their current situation.

Outside, the bells of the Church of Saint Germain the Près start to ring. With this sound, Will gradually starts to move and stretches his feet. Their calves brush under the blanket and the younger man’s eyes open slowly, mouth forming into a lazy smile.

  
  


**Will’s POV**

He can’t help himself. It’s ridiculous. Ever since they decided to share one bed, he is greeted with the same procedure every day. He awakes and meets a gaze full of fondness and adoration. No, he can’t help himself... a smile is inevitable.

“You are awake.” Hannibal’s voice is quiet although it nearly screams with devotion.

He answers this fact by stretching his tired limbs and then intertwines their legs. Hannibal’s arms wrap around him and draw their bodies together, his cheek now pressed against the other man’s chest, whose chin is rested in his hair. Hannibal starts to draw small circles on his skin, he breathes in and closes his eyes again, enjoying the tingling sensation of the featherlight touch. They stay like this for a while, until Hannibal presses a kiss onto his head and eventually leaves the bed. He watches the other man exit the room, sighs, barely audible, and curls up under the blanket again, a huge amount of warmth now gone. This is one of their morning rituals, too. They have never gone further than this. To his delight, Hannibal let him choose the pace of their relationship since they departed from the US and even though he would not be opposed to physical intimacy, it is simply not necessary...

Finally, he manages to climb out of the bed, too, shivers briefly due to only wearing his underwear, and pulls over a t-shirt.

  
  


* * *

  
  


"I consider hosting a dinner party for my new colleagues at the museum." They are having breakfast, their knees touching lightly under the table, which is manufactured out of dark wood.

He breathes out suddenly. A jolt of excitement shoots through his body, a sensation he would have ignored or suppressed a few months ago.   
"Who will provide the meat?" He tries to sound casually, to hide the weird anticipation in his voice but obviously fails. He is sure he would have been able to conceal his emotions from other people, but Hannibal notices without any effort and gazes proudly at him. After a few seconds the other man drops his look again and deadpans: "A butcher. It would be reckless to continue with old habits this soon." 

Of course. He nods. "What exactly are the reasons for this party, then?", he asks losing interest in Hannibal’s project rather fast.

"Social ones?" It's more a suggestion than a statement. Hannibal is clearly having fun with their conversation.

He huffs out a laugh. "You want to get to know them? Maybe you won't refrain from old habits for long, after all..." 

Hannibal smiles, a hint of approval hidden in his eyes.

  
  


* * *

  
  


He hurries through the streets of Paris, the cold wind blows relentlessly and sends shivers down his spine. In hope to shield himself at least a little bit from the cold breeze, he turns up his collar and buries his hands deeper in the pockets of his long, dark coat. Without success. The lecture had lasted longer than expected, who would have thought that students would actually be interested in his speech. As a guest professor of the subject sociology and human sciences he would not have estimated himself to be popular, today he was shown the opposite. First he was positively surprised but now he will be late. Hannibal has been engaged with preparations for the dinner for many days, it was only a matter of time until something would oppose to the plan. 

When he finally arrives at their, in his opinion way too big loft apartment, he can already hear loud noises emerging from the kitchen. Waiters, specially recruited for tonight’s feast, rush around the festive board, perfect the place settings and polish wine glasses. He throws his bag into the bedroom and stops for a moment, gathering himself and breathing in deeply. He will never get used to social events like these, especially when he is actually supposed to be dead.

Finally, he feels able to head for the kitchen, where he finds even more staff and, thank God, Hannibal.

“I am glad you made it.” Hannibal’s voice is filled with sarcasm, however, he does not seem angry with him. To be more specific, the older man is completely in his element. Hannibal appears to be, contrary to the kitchen assistants, only busy and not stressed, his movements are gracious. Every steps fits perfectly. The sight is worthy of admiration.   
He slowly makes towards Hannibal, careful not to move in someone’s way, and leans onto the counter next to the other man, who is chopping herbs right now.

His voice is quiet, lips close to Hannibal’s ear, all the people inside the room making him uncomfortable. He crosses his arms in front of his chest. A weak attempt to form a shield. 

“Sorry, my students were rather ambitious today and the train was late and...”

  
He gets silenced by Hannibal’s hand on his biceps. “Nothing to worry about, Will. The first guests won’t be here until 7 o’clock. Enough time for you to change clothes and calm down.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, calm down. How can I be calm when there will be about twenty attention seeking, small talking snobs in our home in fifteen minutes?”

Hannibal smirks, gaze fixated on him. “This dinner is important for us to create a place in the society of attention seeking, small talking snobs.” 

The older man adds more quietly: “Furthermore, tonight’s conversations will either confirm or discard certain theories of mine.” 

He frowns. So tonight is more at stake than just an acclaimed reputation among an academic community.

“Get changed now.” Hannibal’s hand lingers for a few more moments on his upper arm, then he returns to chopping herbs.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The dinner is, as expected, a big success with plenty of faked laughter and meaningless conversations. Even he relaxes slowly, thanks to Hannibal. The other man is determined to rescue him from forty year old, with eyelashes fluttering, giggling women, and middle aged, tipsy men with enthusiasm for car racing, as often as possible. The only role, that is expected from him, is to be the trophy husband. He can live with this.

After a few gloriously quiet minutes his patience gets challenged again. Two young women make towards him, he can feel his muscles stiffen anew but as if Hannibal sensed his distress, the other man appears right next to him. He sighs out of relief, simply hoping the approaching guests had not heard him.    
Hannibal and the women in front of them start to talk about a future exhibition at one of the countless museums of Paris, not a topic of his interest. He has time to scan the two people in front of him. They sure look gorgeous. The long dark dresses flatter their slim bodies, their hair styled, maybe a little bit too perfectly... how much time and money did they spend for all of this? And... 

He loses the thread due to a strong hand placed on his lower back. Hannibal must have noticed his observant gaze. Fingers start to draw small circles. He has to swallow. The other man’s behaviour was rather possessive for the whole evening, presenting him proudly, gripping his elbow, leading him around, and he was aware of how much Hannibal had enjoyed this, hell, even he himself considered it pleasant. But this gesture and the tingling sensation it brought was new... and not less pleasurable . Heat climbs up his neck while Hannibal’s ministrations slowly get more ambitious, fingers pressing into his tensed muscles. He loses himself in the movements on his back. Questions start to form. What would happen if they were alone now, no guests, no obligations, no expensive suit... No! He snaps out of it, his face feeling as if it was on fire. Distraction. Sipping his wine and trying to ignore the warm hand on his lower back, his gaze wanders through the room. His eyes suddenly meet the one’s of a beardy man. Older than Hannibal. They stare at each other, something observative, nearly analytical is hidden beneath the look of the old man. It uneases him.

The laughter of the two women in front of him makes him break eye contact and he forces himself to smile. The women finally leave Hannibal and him, he stares again to the man at the opposite of the room. Hannibal follows his gaze and leans in, answering his unvoiced question: “Professor Dumont. A guest we should pay particular attention to.”    
He shivers due to the other man’s lips being so close, almost touching his skin. Hannibal notices and smiles briefly, obviously quite pleased with himself. He looks at the man next to him with the intention to ask why Dumont is someone to be interested in but gets lost in Hannibal’s maroon eyes, something dark hidden in them.

  
  


* * *

  
  


It’s time for dessert and it seems like Dumont is the only guest who is not absolutely ecstatic about it. The Professor, sitting across from him, is apparently more interested in him and Hannibal. He can feel Dumont’s gaze prickling on his skin and every time he returns the look he is greeted with the man’s icy, blue eyes. Hannibal who is sitting between the two of them, at the head of the table, simply seems to ignore the bearded man. 

Dumont picks at his dessert, breaths in deeply and asks: “So, please excuse my curiosity, it’s none of my business but how long are you and Dr. Harris married?” The question hits him unexpected, confusion forming inside of him, but still, his facial expressions remains the one of a man, who was asked a completely usual question. He had learnt a lot during the last few years. 

He clears his throat, inwardly very glad that Hannibal and he had discussed the details of their new identities thoroughly. “One year.”

Dumont nods, noticeably considering his next question which is directed to Hannibal this time.   
“Pardon if you mentioned it already but for how long have you two been in Paris now?”

“Three months.”

Professor Dumont seems a little bit startled but gathers himself again immediately.

He looks briefly at Hannibal, who observed Dumont’s reaction as carefully as he did. ‘Three months’ was not the period of time they had agreed upon in former discussions about their disguises but still, exactly this answer alarms Dumont. It’s the period of time since they left the USA. Since they faked their deaths. Hannibal is already in the middle of an observative game... this party is finally getting interesting.

  
  


**Hannibal’s POV**

He was right. Dumont suspects them. He wonders briefly why there aren’t more people who are at least slightly suspicious, but apparently nobody is reading the Tattler in France. No big surprise. Freddy Lounds’ tabloid journalism did not have a lot of followers in the United States, why would it be popular in Europe? Additionally, they are supposed to be dead. Apart from a few conspiracy theorists and enthusiastic, obsessed fans nobody believes they survived. His thoughts are cut short by Will’s knee brushing his own softly. The younger man’s look bears, although it is well hidden, excitement. He knows Will put two and two together. They have to act careful, but also as soon as possible, otherwise Dumont will spread a hint, just a little detail. A possible consultation by the French police concerning the tragic death of a more or less respected Professor would be manageable. Their new alter egos are thoughtfully created. Furthermore Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham are regarded dead after all, no European police department would pay attention to an officially closed case. But as soon as Dumont plants suspicion into the head of an ally, their identity could crumble. A quick look to Will only confirms his plans, the younger man’s eyes staring back at him, the glimmer of an accepted challenge hidden in them, their thoughts unvoiced but shared. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


A few hours after they finished dinner, some guests are still chatting in the big dining area. Dumont, most likely in order not to raise additional suspicion, is one of them.    
The kitchen staff finished their work a few minutes ago, he sent them home, the remaining guests won’t cause much trouble.

He finds Will, lost in thoughts, standing in the corner of the room, hands buried in the pockets of his suit trousers. He makes towards him.

“You could at least pretend like you enjoyed yourself.” He suggests, feeling entertained by Will’s stillness.

Will smirks, leans into him and whispers. “I am a bit worried about certain developments, I continue acting like I have a good time when our existence is not threatened anymore.”

“You will draw Dumont’s attention to us, Will.” He counters, voice a little bit husky due to the other man’s proximity. He feels the Professor’s brief and supposedly unobtrusive stares observing them.

Will smiles and moves a hand over his chest. He breathes in, the sensation of the younger man's touch overwhelming. 

Will speaks quietly: "Dumont is already paying special attention to us, there is no longer the need to wear a mask." With these words Will turns his head to meet the now startled stare of the professor. Will plays a dangerous, unsubtle game, the thoughtful attitude from a few moments ago gone, now ready to attack. An act of intimidating one’s future prey. The younger man brings his gaze back to his eyes. “He won’t tell anyone. Not yet. He is the kind of person who wants to be sure before he spreads rumors.” 

A playful expression dominates the younger man’s eyes. Will enjoys this game a little bit too much and he can’t bring himself to complain about it. The man in front of him leans in even closer, lips nearly touching his neck and whispers: "Anyway, the other guests don't suspect anything."

Will smirks and then walks over to one of the elderly women, who is clearly very fond of the young man, to try to get to know some details about the professor's private life... and his attempt will be more subtle than Dumonts previous interrogation. He can’t help but watch Will, now talking lively with the old woman, who is melting due to the younger man’s charm. What a special creature Will is... simply perfect.

  
  


* * *

  
  


One hour passes and the remaining guests finally decide to leave. After the tedious but necessary procedure of the french farewell ritual, Will and he are alone at last. The younger man, suit jacket already taken off, sleeves of the light grey shirt rolled up to the elbows, is on his way to the window which faces the street, he follows him. 

“I don't know his address, and unfortunately I got told that his garden is not completely shielded from curious neighbors eyes. But there are no pets and he is currently alone at home. I overheard a conversation between him and...uhm...this guy...nevermind. He said his wife is on a business trip in Spain. He could not stop bragging with her.” Will walks to the bar, pours them both a glass of whiskey, returns next to him to the window and hands him the glass.

“A comprehensible mistake.”, he counters quietly. Will raises his eyebrows and smiles at him, his skin tingles and he quickly takes a sip from the whiskey.   
“However, I do know his current address, he mentioned it at a meeting.”

“It’s almost too easy” Will frowns, but his eyes glimmer with something dark and hungry. 

He smiles. 

“You still worry too much, Will.”

Will laughs and he knows this is one of these perfect moments he will preserve forever.


End file.
